Shifting Sands
by Lord Sanguine
Summary: When Percy Jackson defeated Kronos, he thought he had saved the World. His actions may have ended the Second Titan War, but there is no room for peace. There's a storm coming. Powerful enemies stir and allies - new and old, are switching sides. In a world of shifting alliances, every man must chose a side - before one is chosen for him.
1. Foreword

**Author's Note:** **New story. Will try to finish this one.**

 **Disclaimer:** **This is a derivative work and as such I make no claim of ownership or copyright for any of the characters, settings or** **events derived from other works. All such intellectual property remains the property of their respective owners.**

* * *

 **Foreword:**

* * *

As her husband launched out of bed upon the first strike of his phones 6:00am wakeup alarm, Lucy Dexter couldn't help but feel that such zeal was laughably inappropriate. Not only was it snowing – for the third day in a row, it was the Winter Solstice – the shortest, coldest and in her opinion, meanest sounding day of the year. It was a time to for sleeping in, a mug of hot cocoa and maybe a good book in bed she thought to herself, not the sort of morning athletics she'd seen her husband demonstrate minutes ago.

Snapping out of her daydream she realised he was already in the shower. It had always been one of the things that had amazed her – just how fast he could get ready. It just seemed so… out of place for an actuary. But then again that's what had intrigued her about Steven Dexter – he had always been the strangest combination of painfully ordinary punctuated by brief yet fascinating hints of something else, something darkly mysterious. After eight years of marriage the mystery faded –she often wondered if it was just her imagination, But there was always something preventing her from doing so. Something small, the tiniest shred of a hint. But something nonetheless. Today it was how fast he got out of bed.

"Honey, I'm leaving, remember 7:30 tonight", the sound of her husband's departing remarks woke her from her reverie – the strangeness of the morning already forgotten as she groaned at the thought of getting up. The morning was too cold. Her day could wait. She rolled over and feel back asleep.

* * *

Steven grinned as he exited the apartment. He could tell that today was going to be special - some sort of intuition, a sixth sense of sorts, he didn't dwell on how he knew. He just did, and he was looking forward to it. He whistled all the way to his car, stopping only to remove his coat, spreading it across the back seat of his BMW before hopping behind the wheel. He frowned for a moment when he looked down at the bespoke three piece suit he was sporting. It looked good. He just hoped it didn't look to good. It wold be such an amateur move to give himself away like that.

As he pulled away from the curb and joined the morning traffic he pondered how solid his disguise was. He knew it _could_ be better. But he liked nice things. It was a fine line, and he was pushing the limits, the penthouse apartment, fancy cars, watches, bespoke suits and gadgets weren't cheap – and actuaries didn't make that kind of money. But then again his wife didn't know their finances, his friends didn't pry and it's not as if the IRS could come after him. The thought made him laugh as the traffic in front of him cleared and he gunned the accelerator tearing off as he felt himself press back into his seat.

It was exhilarating to see pedestrians and other cars shrink to dots in his wing mirrors as a sharp wind whipped his face through the open windows – but he soon reigned himself in. Immunity or otherwise, attracting attention was bad for business. He did miss the thrill of field work, but he had moved past that now. Bigger and better things for me now, he thought to himself.

The rest of the trip passed uneventfully and he soon felt himself pulling up into his usual parking spot – three floors underground and opposite the elevator, rank had its privileges. He walked into the elevator.

"Good morning Mr Dexter", the elevator chimed following it retinal scan. The elevator doors opened as he reached ground floor. As he stepped out into the foyer he had to admit the entrance was impressive – Two massive marble archways crisscrossed the room with jagged lighting edged down both in solid god. Atop the arches an eagle was perched majestically, a long bolt of lightning in both claws and the stars and stripes hanging across its body. The grandeur was simultaneously inspiring and intimidating - he couldn't help but wonder who had to be blackmailed for Washington to fund such extravagance.

Walking through to his office he could almost imagine it was a normal day – well as normal as a day could be in his line of work, men in suits saluted as they walked past, secretaries greeted him and a humdrum of conversation carried through the place. Steven wasn't fooled – his gut had never let him down before, he'd be dammed if it happened now. As he passed the large stained glass window at the end of the foyer he couldn't help but stop to admire it. It was a brilliant hue of white with the word's BOLT written in solid gold lettering beneath the agency's seal – the bald eagle clutching a lightning bolt. Write below the agency's name, in smaller letters was the inscription 'For King and Country' written in the same clear golden font.

The inscription had always puzzled him. The country part made sense. But America was a constitutional republic – there never had been an American King and he highly doubted they were paying homage to George III. When he had first arrived he had asked his tour guide, a now retired operative about the inscriptions meaning. He had received a story about how "for president and people" wasn't catchy enough. It sounded thin, but he got the feeling that he further questions on the issue would not be invited. As he once again turned to head for his office he couldn't help but feel that he was missing the inscriptions importance.

He had one hand upon the handle to his office when his suspicions were confirmed.

"Mr Black wants to see you", his secretary told him as she got up from her desk and walked over.

"Me. Now?" He asked. This was highly unusual. He saw his boss, Mr Black once a month for a progress report and briefing and that was it. Mr Black never broke routine. Something was up. "How did he contact you", Steven asked, genuinely curious. Mr Black had no secretary and It seemed unimaginable that he would deliver such as message himself.

"Dead drop. The Letter was on my desk when I got here." She replied glancing at her watch, "You should go. Now."

"Yes. Best not to keep him waiting," Steven replied in a light hearted tone, but secretly he was worried. He'd heard stories that didn't bear repeating.

Stopping outside Mr Black's office Steven hastily wiped the newly accumulated sweat off his hands before straightening his tie and fixing his hair. He wasn't normally nervous – but nothing about this was normal. He steadied his nerved, reached forward and grasped the steel handle, pulling the mahogany door open. Inside sat Mr Black, tall, and rakishly handsome, he looked to be in his early forties, hair slicked back and a double breasted suit hanging immaculately of his broad shoulders.

"You wanted to see me", Steven ventured attempting to modulate his pitch.

"Indeed I did Mr Dexter. The target has been located. I want you to bring him in personally. Your transport has been arranged" Mr Black spoke evenly in a calm but confident tone.

"That is highly unusual sir, I'm not a field agent anymore. And I can't just disappear like that."

"That was not a request. You will go. Dismissed."

To say Steven was glad the meeting was over would be an understatement. Mr Black possessed a casual air of menace he really did not know how to deal with – and now it seemed his Christmas was completely fucked. He had barely made it back to his office when he was once again intercepted again. "Mr Dexter, I'm in charge of your travel arrangements for your trip. If you'll follow me." The vice was curt and neutral with barely a hint of an accent. And worst of all Steven had never seen the guy before. He knew everyone – it was his job to know everyone. Heck his life depended on it and here in ten minutes his life had been turned around. He couldn't help but wonder why he had thought today was going to be a good day.

* * *

The airfield he took off from didn't exist. Well at least an official sense. Off course it existed physically. That wasn't new to him. Neither was the sleek black C-17 Globemaster he had taken off in. He had ridden in plenty back in his company days, and back in the service before then. But this jet had been retrofitted with plush upholstery and finishing's so that it looked more like a Lear jet than a military vehicle. It was hard not to feel out of his depth. New faces, new equipment and a mission he still knew next to nothing about. It was as if the real game was occurring twenty levels above him and he were just some pawn that was being moved into place as an amusing feint for one of the puppet masters. He hated it.

On the ride over he had managed to get off a quick call to his wife to let of an excuse for his absence. It was weak. Something about the crown account wanting figures redone before Christmas – he'd claimed he'd be at the office day and night. He doubted his wife would believe it. He wouldn't have believed it – the bullshit was paper thin.

He turned again to face the screen in front of him and replayed the briefing. They really did skimp on the details. All he knew was that two geologists had stumbled upon something – an anomaly of sorts and the analysts thought it was related to the X-ray they'd been tracking for the last 12 months. The secrecy of the operation required someone of rank - and someone had decided that someone was Steven Dexter – and so he was bound for the Canadian wilderness. There was one bit of good news, a Mr Smith and Mr Brown would be rendezvousing at their landing sight to help him carry out the mission. At least that way he could delegate the messy parts.

The Jet landed at Fort Yukon in Alaska. There was an uneventful transfer from the jet to a Blackhawk painted in a mottled grey and white camouflage pattern – it appeared the Canadians weren't exactly in the loop about the operation. He didn't like the sound of that – the level of secrecy meant something big was going on, big things rarely ended well.

Smith and Brown had been waiting for him on the helicopter. He doubted those were their real names. Smith had close cropped black hair. Brown had short brown hair gelled across his face. Both men wore aviators and combat fatigues with standard issue M16s across their backs and M9s in their hip holsters. They looked young but carried an air of professionalism with them. Steven had no idea where they were from but he guessed they were some military covert ops division – that would have been the easiest place to get men on such short notice. On reflection though the organisers of the escapade he was on didn't appear to have any particular problems with requisitioning resources.

As he sat down opposite the two men Smith had reached forward and handed him a silver briefcase stamped with an all too familiar crest – an eagle clutching a lightning bolt. He scanned his fingerprint onto the close and as the briefcase popped opened the blood drained from his face. Inside equipment was neatly stashed in molded foam along with an official looking envelope tiled INSTRUCTIONS. He didn't have to read it to know what was being asked of him, the detonators said it all. As he read through the instructions his heart sank. 'For King and Country' he said to himself. He didn't know why – the motto had never come to him before, but for some reason it comforted him.

He heard the whine of the rotors change before he felt the helicopter begin to descend towards the ground 50 miles west of Eagle Plains. There was already a small team assembled near the landing site. Two police officers, what looked like the geologists, a fire truck and six firemen. His stomach tensed as he saw the party. Leave he thought. What are you doing here? His stomach twisted with regret for what he was going to have to do.

The helicopter touched down and Mr Smith got up opening the door for allowing Steven to walk out into the afternoon sun. The party had turned to face the helicopter door. One of the police officers – the older of the two, appeared to have taken charge, he had stepped in front of the others and his hand was near his hip holster. As Steven walked out of the helicopter he directed his attention to the senior officer, as Mr Smith and Mr Brown moved to flank him.

"Who goes there, gentleman", the police officer called out moving the pistol from his holster to his hand.

"Who we are, is not important, but we have some questions, we suggest you answer", Steven replied. He was trying to channel Mr Black – to sound strong and imposing, but his voice sounded weak. He couldn't afford to mess this up.

"I'm not sure I like your tone. This is the scene of an investigation. You can't just-"The police Officers complaint was cut off as Steven gestured with his right hand. Immediately Mr Smith stepped forward and in one smooth movement removed the gun from the officer's hand, kicking it away before pushing him to the ground, drawing his own firearm and pointing it at the officer's head. Meanwhile Mr Brown had drawn his M16 and was pointing it straight at the rest of the crowd, gesturing for them to kneel. The younger police officer looked as if he was preparing to attack but before he could Mr Brown had turned to him. "Don't do anything stupid. Raw your gun butt first and kick it away over there" Brown kept his M16 trained until the man complied.

"Well", Steven said, "I hope we have established who is in charge here. Now I have some questions and I WILL be getting some answers. Cooperate and no one has to get hurt." He turned to the senior police officer, "You, how many people know about what's going on."

"Just everyone here, when they called in the anomaly, me and Charlie came out", the officer said pointing to his younger companion "when it seemed like we may need some extra hands we called out Jim and his crew" he continue turning to face the firemen.

"So no one else knows where you are or what's happening out here?" Steven asked.

"Well yes, it's a small town, we're all there is."

"Good. And there are no automated systems, voice mails – anything else?"

"Like I said, it's a small town; we can scarcely afford a printer."

"Good, Good", Steven said turning to the geologists – three men in blue overalls and work boots, "Describe this anomaly to me. I want specifics."

The three geologists looked at each other before the shortest of the three, a wizened old fellow with long stubble and a scraggly beard began "We were sent out her by Exxon Mobil – wanted to know if there's any oil out here – after BP got their stake out near-"

"Detail of the anomaly. I don't need your life story." Steven said.

"Well as I was saying before, BP got their stake-"

"Hurry the fuck up. I'm losing my patience" Steven interrupted.

"Do you want to hear the story or not? Cos if you want me to tell it I'll tell it to you in the full-"

"I am the one here with the gun" Steven said drawing his own pistol and pointing it squarely at the man's head, so I think you should tell the story however the fuck I ask you to, before your insides are decorating your friends outsides. Are we clear?"

The geologist looked up stubbornly as if to continue to argue that the story must be told in full when his colleague came to his recuse, "Maybe, I can tell you the story. We were here surveying this area for oil and when we got to this patch of land" the geologist pointed to patch of land about 10 feet away. Upon closer examination Steven saw the snow there looked kin of different too. "Anyway when we ran the machines over it we noticed something very strange. Everywhere else there's about six feet of snow and then rock underneath. But right there there's a hole in the rock going like 600 feet deep – the whole thing's filled with snow. But that's not all. It's moving. There's something at the bottom of the hole and it's like it's rising. Never seen anything like it before. SO we called the police. And then we waited to see what would happen."

Strange, Steven thought to himself. "You said this thing was moving. How fast? When will it reach the surface?"

"We ran some calculations. Its accelerating. It should breach the surface in…" The geologist checked his watch, "30 minutes. I thought it was aliens. Is that why you're here? Are you area 51 or something?"

"No" Steven laughed, "I'm not. But whatever this is its classified above top secret which means nothing can ever get out." He closed his eyes. He hated what he was about to do next. He knew he would regret it for the rest of his life, But what choice did he have? 'For King and Country' he thought. Once again it calmed him down. "I'm afraid you have all seen too much now." he turned around , "Smith, Brown, kill them all."

"What, but you said no one would get hurt!" one of the firemen yelled.

"I'm sorry"

"I have a family please don't do th-"the same man cried before he was silenced by a bullet and the screaming began in earnest.

* * *

Steven sat in the snow, his legs numbed by the cold and his suit wet from the melt – neither of those things mattered to him though. He had just killed eleven innocent civilians. He had had them shot, and right this minute Smith and Brown were 100 metres away burying them. He had killed before, but in the military – it had always been in battle, that had made it honourable. When he had worked for the company, at least he could tell himself that the world was better off without the people he killed. Now he could do neither. He admitted that he hadn't joined BOLT for the most noble of reasons – more money, more power and more prestige, it was about as selfish as it got. But the whole time he had assumed he was still serving his country, trying to make it a better place, now as he sat in the snow he wasn't sure. Eleven people were dead for some sort of moving rock in the ground – and the worst part was that the worst was yet to come. He hadn't even gotten to the nasty part of his job yet. He glanced at his watch. 7:28pm, two minutes till the package arrived.

By the time the ground started rumbling, Smith and Brown had finished their dirty job and had returned to the odd patch of snow. Now all three of them took a step back. 90 seconds to go. The rumbling increased, the snow began to churn. 60 seconds. Steam began to rise from the patch. Steven took another step back. 30 seconds. Snow began to turn to water. 10 seconds. A dark shadow appeared in the water. 5 seconds. The shadow grew larger. 4. 3. 2. Steven swore he saw the outline of a man. 1. 0. BOOM!

Boiling water erupted three metres into the air, spraying across the snow with an angry hissing sound. As the geyser stooped Steven moved forward to see the body of a teenage boy floating face down in the pool of water – somehow unburnt. He was naked except for the tattered remains of an orange t-shirt and in his right hand he appeared to be clutching a cheap pen. What the actual fuck, Steven thought, he had seen a lot of strange things throughout his career, but this most certainly topped them all. How could the body not have decomposed at all? It was impossible. Unless it were alive? But that was more impossible. For a moment Steven wondered if it actually as an alien, but he quickly pushed that thought aside.

"Smith, get him out of the water, check for life. Brown, grab a cart and put him on it. We may need to rush him to the helicopter for life support." He issued the instructions rapid fire as he dashed for the helicopter himself, preparing to undertake the least forgivable action of the day if not his life. Retrieving the briefcase from before he removed the detonators and stashing them in his left breast pocket before looking up to see Brown wheeling the cart back onto the helicopter, body on top.

"He appears to be very much alive, breathing, pulse, the whole lot – unconscious though, maybe a coma?" brown theorised as he locked the cart in place.

"Good work," Steve said. "Here take this", he said holding the briefcase out to him. "go back to the place we recovered the body from and drop this in there. You too Smith" he said gesturing to the other man. As soon as Brown left the helicopter he withdrew a controller from the right breast pocket. As soon as he pressed a button, the helicopter's rear door closed and the rotors began to turn. At least the helicopter doesn't have a pilot Steven thought. The sound of the helicopter taking of attracted the attention of Brown and Smith as they realised too late what was going to happen. Well If I wasn't going to hell before I was sure as hell going to now, Steve thought.

He took the detonator out of his left breast pocket. It was one thing to kill civilians, but countryman? Could it be justified? He knew It couldn't. But it was too late. 'For King and Country' he thought. He was committed. The helicopter was well up into the sky now. He could see Smith and Brown trying to run away but he was sure all three of them knew it was futile. He didn't blame them though. He would have tried the same thing. 'For King and Country'. He lifted up the detonator and uncapped the safety. Smith and Brown were still running but from the helicopter the Canadian wilderness looked remarkably peaceful – innocent to the violence of before. How could he kill again at such a tranquil moment? 'For King and Country'. As he looked down away from the scene below he filled his mind with images of his country. As he pressed the button he thought to himself, I hope my country understands.

There was a delay of several seconds before he felt the shockwave of the explosion. The helicopter was thrown from its path, the machine seeming to fall for several seconds before the devices remote pilot - sitting in his office somewhere in Langley or Washington, got his act together and righted it. He looked out through the window to the countryside below obliterated, flames flaring and spreading across the landscape – and all traces of what had lay there before obliterated.

As he turned once again to examine the body – the mysterious target which had caused so upturned his life, he saw the twitch. It was minute, just one finger moving a couple of millimetres. But it was there. He saw it. It could not be denied. And then the boy opened his eyelids revealing the most mesmerising set of golden eyes.

 **Author's Note:** **I am making a conscious effort to improve my A/N to story ratio so I'll keep it brief. Hope you enjoyed the foreword. Review or PM any requests, questions or ideas.**


	2. Peace

**Author's Note:** **First Chapter. Just want to point out the story doesn't exactly follow on from the end of The Last Olympian. Parts of the ending of the book occur slightly differently and will be revealed throughout the story.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1 – Peace:**

* * *

 **15 MONTHS EARLIER:**

It had been two weeks since his Birthday and Percy Jackson couldn't decide whether he liked being sixteen. In reality he was pretty sure his age had very little to do with how he was feeling. His birthday had turned out to be a rather momentous occasion – certainly not something most people would complain about, but then again not many people had had to deal with The Lord of Time choosing their birthday as the start of a new age.

Regardless, the world had changed irreparably that day, and Percy wasn't sure he liked that. He at least wished someone else would acknowledge the change that had taken place, but no one seemed quite willing. It was like the floor had suddenly tilted on an angle yet everyone insisted _floors had always been angled, what are talking about Percy?_

He knocked an arrow, sighted a target 50 metres away, drew back the string and released. It was a clumsy shot. He knew it as soon as he released. The fact that the bow string continued on to slap him in the forearm was an unneeded reminder. He looked up to see the arrow sticking out of the ground several metres away from the target. It was one of his better shots that day.

"Percy, are you even trying?" Will Solace called out, staring disapprovingly at the results of his last six shots. Somehow Will had not yet reconciled himself to the fact that further improvement in this particular subject area was beyond impossible as far as Percy was concerned. Instead he had spent the past two weeks attempting to achieve something the rest of the Apollo Cabin and even Chiron had long given up on. Despite Will's disappointment, Percy was secretly glad that he still sucked at archery. He was better than before; a fact Chiron's tail was no doubt thankful about. But relatively – especially when compared to the Apollo kids or the Hunters he knew he knew that such improvements meant little. At least some things never change.

Unfortunately he couldn't say the same for the rest of his life. While the improvements brought on by curse of Achilles were somehow apparently insufficient to improve his archery – his swordsmanship was another matter. After his battle with Hyperion and his duel with the Lord of Time, it would be an understatement to say that the other campers were reluctant to spar with him. Heck even Clarisse would find some excuse as to why - as much as she _would love to_ _cream him_ she unfortunately had something else to do.

He knew that really he should just be flattered and move on – after all there were always training dummies. It was just that he desperately wanted things to go back to the way they were before the war. Before all his friends had died. The sound of the conch shook him from his sombre thoughts as he headed for the dining pavilion.

As he picked up a plate of food and headed to the brazier, he glanced at the Athena table and realised that not everything was _that_ bad. If there was one thing he was glad about – you know other that the fact that the world hadn't ended, it was that the awkward tension that had permeated their relationship since Mt Saint Helens had evaporated after their underwater kiss. He assumed that it was the relief of winning the war had thrust them together -but part of him thought their relationship's blossoming may have had something to do with a certain Oracle. Regardless he couldn't help but feel that after over a year of awkwardness it was about damn something went his way.

* * *

Annabeth spent the afternoon attempting to teach a bunch of the first year camper's about the functioning of the mist. To say that she was not having much success, she felt, was a blatant understatement. Having spent their first year at camp having to deal with the realities of The Second Titan War it appeared that the kids had taken it upon themselves to catch up on all the fun they had missed out on. Today, apparently that meant acting like a bunch of smart alecks.

"The mist is an all permeating force under the control of the goddess Hecate-" She began.

"Why is it called the mist!", yelled a young Hermes camper from the back of the group.

"Maybe because it's so mystical." An daughter of Aphrodite said in a spooky voice.

"As I was saying because it is an all permeating force – it is spread over the entire earth like a thin mist." Annabeth said attempting to refocus the group on the matter at hand.

"Well why don't we call it a fog then –fog spreads too"

"Because fog sounds dumb – kind of like you actually."

"Ooh burned!"

"Maybe we should call it the Aether"

"Yeah. That sounds way cooler!"

"Yeah –plus then we can invalidate the results of the Michelson Morley experiment!"

"Can we start a petition to the gods to change the name of the mist to Aether?"

The interruptions were coming so fast now that Annabeth couldn't even keep track of who was saying what anymore – although she was quite sure that second last comment had to be a sister of hers. Deciding that a normal lesson was of the cards she pulled out Daedalus' laptop and began working on her plans for a new statue of her mother as part of her plan for the redesign of Olympus.

When Annabeth heard the her siblings leaving the dining pavilion she realised she had been so engrossed in her project during that she hadn't even finished her dinner. She looked up and over at the Poseidon table – she couldn't see Percy, but she figured he must have already left for the campfire. When she arrived however, he was nowhere to be seen.

 **Author's Note:** **I would be interested to hear your opinions on chapter length. More frequent but shorter chapters or longer less frequent updates? Feel free to drop ad feedback, comments or questions in a review.**


	3. Sherlock

**Author's Note:** **This Chapter Is A Bit Longer.**

* * *

 **Chapter 2 – Sherlock:**

* * *

Nico had to admit that the war had not treated the Underworld well. The gates to hell were swelled before, resembling some sort of bizarre airport security system. Now the swarms of humanity, waiting to get into hell better resembled the crowd attracted by a particularly controversial popstar. Nico smiled as he walked straight past the lines of people. Luckily queues were not problems demigods had to deal with in the Underworld – especially not demigod children of Hades, not that there were too many others. At least he assumed there weren't. Hades may have claimed to be the only god not to have broken the Big Three pact, but Nico wasn't so sure - a god who could keep two of his children hidden in a Casino for eight years could surely have sired some children on the side and kept them hidden. Only time would tell.

As he continued through the Underworld Nico could see the Black Obsidian pillars of his father's palace come into view. Today passage was guarded by two English knights; skeleton's covered in full plate armour with drawn longswords, their armoured skeletal horses by their sides. As Nico approached the two Knights kneeled and the bronze gates they guarded snapped open.

"You wanted to see me, father?" Nico said.

"Yes. There has been a … disturbance. Normally I would send the Furies…" Hades looked thoughtfully into the distance, "I think this situation could benefit from some detective work. Use your initiative. Rectify the situation. Deal with the perpetrator, appropriately… That is if you thin k you can handle this task."

The challenge was obvious to Nico. Was this all an elaborate ruse concocted by Hades to test him? Maybe. But it didn't matter. He could hardly decline his father's request – not if he planned on living long.

"I will try my best father." Nico said as he stepped into a shadow and disappeared.

While he was sure his exit from Hades palace could have made Zeus jealous, and would almost have certainly pissed his father off, he realised it was a mistake as soon as he reappeared – near a pomegranate tree in Persephone's garden. He now had no idea what the disturbance was – or where to start looking. He accepted the extra challenge philosophically; it was too late to go back.

Well then, where should I go? Thinking through the problem logically Nico realised it couldn't be the Gates of Hell, he'd passed through there. That meant Elysium, asphodel or the fields of punishment were most likely. The fields of punishment were the kind of place was things were wont to go wrong. Decision made Nico stepped into a shadow.

Like most days, the fields of punishment were truly an assault on the senses: the stench of rotting meat, the taste of pain in the air and the sights – millions of humans spread out across miles and miles, each with some personally designed ordeal of anguish. Bespoke service, that's us! We aim to please here in the underworld!

Refocusing on his mission, Nico turned to a nearby skeleton – a ragtag specimen if he ever so one and asked "anything out of the usual?"

"I think the screaming is louder today, My Lord" the skeleton said.

Funny. A skeletal comedian. Just what he needed right now.

"Well I guess its Elysium for me then" Nico said to no one in particular.

The decision to go to Elysium next, Nico had to admit, had nothing to do with logical deduction. He simply decided it was probably a nicer place to head to. The fields of asphodel - with its teaming masses of souls just standing there, were somehow vastly more depressing than even the fields of punishment. At least the people there had done something! At eat they would be remembered. The souls of asphodel barely new themselves – truly the epitome of forgotten.

He was about to shadow travel away, when a peculiar sight caught his eye – striding towards him was a giant in a bright orange prison uniform, madly flourishing - was that a mop?

"What the heck" Nico shook his head.

As the figure approached, he could make out more details. The man's head was governed in a mop of glowing silver hair – like a mad professor, and his jumpsuit was monogramed:

'Prisoner 24601'

The Underworld is full of comedians apparently. He briefly wondered if might have been his father's personal touch - an attempt at humiliating the titan Iapetus, but he discarded the idea, Hades didn't make jokes. Right?

"Bob, what are you doing here?" Nico asked.

"I work for Hades now. He told me to mop up all the blood from the fields of punishment. I keep mopping, but there's always more blood."

"Great… Listen Bob. Why don't you come with me. I could use your help." Nico figured that having a titan as back up couldn't hurt – he doubted the 'disruption' as his father put it, would be able to challenge them together.

"Great. Bob loves adventures. Just like last time" Nico cringed a bit as he remembered how Percy had pushed Iapetus into the River Lethe.

"One day he's going to get his memories back," Nico thought – "and when he does I sure as hell hope I'm nowhere nearby."

As he walked through Elysium, Nico realised he hadn't visited since the end of the war – hadn't come to see anyone who had died fighting Kronos. He wasn't particularly close to any of the campers, but he figured he should probably still say hi or something.

They were through a section of feudal Japanese houses - occupants dressed like Samurai, when Nico first smelled the smoke.

"Bob, do you smell smoke?" Nico asked.

"Yes. Bob can see the fire too"

"Take me to it." Nico set of after the titan.

The source of the fire turned out to be a modern looking house, built from a white looking brick. Nico had no idea how he was going to put a fire out. If Percy were here he could simply draw water and bury the fire – Nico had no chance of doing the same. It appeared however that Nico's concern was in vain. Bob leapt forth and began to beat at the flame with his mop. The flames began to die back. Bob continued to wave the mop furiously. The fire began to die out. This was working too well… It was almost as if Bob had regained some of his 'godly' power and was channelling it into putting out the fire. Nico decided he would have a chat with his father about plans for handling Iapetus when he regained his memories and powers.

With the house extinguished Nico couldn't help but wonder; who would set their house on fire? And how? The house was constructed of brick, it didn't look like something that would burn normally. That meant something magical had started the blaze – and that was bad news. Back to why then. He entered the house searching for something to identify the owner. He found the charred remains of a journal – on the top corner in spidery writing was a name.

"Well Fuck" Nico said. It was Luke Castellan's house.

 **Author's Note:** **Any Feedback welcome.**


End file.
